Inquire Within
by RedBarchetta
Summary: At long last, Arthur has come to realize that magic may not be evil after all. But if he's going to have a chance at returning magic to Camelot, he'll need a Court Sorcerer. Just how can he possibly find a magic-user to trust in such a position? Why, by applications of course! Multi-chapter fic inspired by Qwertys' "Work Cut Out for a Warlock." Set post-SE4, pre-SE5.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first foray into creative writing. I've never tried anything with a plot before, and have never written anything longer than a page that wasn't science-y. I have no betas (mostly because I'm not sure how they work, so if you want to clue me in, please do), no outline, and no update schedule. But let me know what you think, and we'll see if this is worth continuing and fleshing out.**

 **This is inspired by Qwerts' one-shot 'Work Cut Out for a Warlock'. If you haven't read it, go and do that immediately. It's hilarious.**

 **Disclaimer: Because of the nature of this fic, it's not going to be the most action-adventure. If you're looking for swords and epic battles and plots against the kingdom, you (probably?) won't find it here. However, if you like tons of magic, magic theory, and Merlin getting to be a bit of an egghead, read on.**

 **Oh, and I don't own Merlin. This is FanFiction. Does anyone claim to own anything here?**

 **Let's begin!**

* * *

Chapter 1

Arthur sat on his throne, digging one thumbnail into the armrest and looking distinctly unhappy with the scene in front of him.

In the middle of the throne room floor, a pair of guards held a young boy between them—a boy who couldn't have seen more than seven or eight summers. His nose was red and wet from crying, freckled cheeks flushed with terror and misery, and the poor child was shaking like a leaf in a maelstrom. His scraped, knobby knees would have probably been knocking together had they not been forced onto the cold stone floor like those of a common criminal on trial. Although, Arthur wearily supposed, that was exactly what he was.

"This boy was caught attempting sorcery just outside the citadel walls, sire," one of the guards reported, giving the boy in question a small shake as if he needed to clarify whom he was talking about. The motion was enough to elicit a small whimper from the child, and the sound sent a small stab of guilt through the king's heart. This was the sixth "attempted" sorcerer brought before him in as many months, though he was by far the youngest. A _child._

It was with great self-control that Arthur managed to refrain from heaving a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This was getting out of hand.

"What is your name?" Arthur asked with as much kindness as he could manage, but mentally winced when he heard some of his irritation color his tone. He didn't want to traumatize the child any further. He wished Guinevere were there, she was always a much more calming presence than he was, but she had her own duties to see to for the afternoon.

The boy gave a great sniffle and another pitiful whimper before answering quietly, "A-Annan."

"Can you tell me what happened, Annan?"

It was as if an emotional dam burst within the child, and it was all Arthur could do stifle his startled jump when Annan began to wail.

"I was jus' trying to help!" he sobbed. "There was a birdie, but it wasn't flying because it's wing was all broken. I thought a cat got it, but I didn't see a cat, an' it looked jus' like when Fenian broke his ankle las' week jumping the creek. But Lavie fixed up Fenian's ankle, and Lavie wasn' there to help the birdie, so I jus' tried to help it like she helped Fenian, an' I didn't hurt nobody, honest I didn't!"

Arthur was trying to process the boy's frantic rant when he heard a small sniff behind and to his left where he knew Merlin was standing, and hoped beyond hope that the idiot wasn't back there crying like some heartbroken maid. It was _just_ a bird. He resisted the temptation to turn around and raise an eyebrow at his servant, and instead turned that eyebrow toward the guard who had spoken earlier.

"He was overheard by the sentry trying to enchant the bird. He was using some... incantation or some such." The guard looked almost painfully uncomfortable using the words "enchant" and "incantation," as if he were afraid of being arrested right then and there just for saying them. The king wanted to roll his eyes. It wasn't as if _speaking_ were a crime, for heaven's sake, but clearly he had to say it out loud for anyone to realize that.

"And did anything happen? Was this boy witnessed performing magic by anyone?" _And if he was, am I really expected to pass judgement on a child who fixed a bird's broken wing?_

"No, sire."

This time, Arthur did let out a small huff that had been building since the boy's entrance. "Then I will take this opportunity to remind all of you that _speaking_ is not a punishable crime in Camelot. While I appreciate your vigilance, I believe we could all benefit from a small amount of discretion. This child has performed no magic, and thereby has committed no crime." _Though I'm glad we wasted a perfectly good afternoon to address this. Again._

The king turned his attention back to the child. "Annan, can you tell me where you live? Are you able to find your way back home from the castle?"

Annan gave the king a wary glance before shaking his head, blond curls bouncing everywhere. "Can' tell. Lavie says I'm not allowed to tell people where our camp's at unless I ask her first."

Arthur looked at the boy, taking in his threadbare trousers cut off at the knee, the rough, homespun tunic of undyed wool despite the summer heat, the cords of braided hemp on his tiny wrist, and the layer of dried mud on the bottoms of the cloth wraps covering his feet.

The boy was a Druid.

Arthur had no qualms with the Druids. While he knew that many of them possessed some magic, he also knew that there were many who did not. Those who did did so quietly, discretely, and performed it rarely enough that it was almost never brought to Arthur's attention. Most importantly, those who did did so _peacefully,_ a quality that did not escape Arthur's notice. Oh, what his father would think to hear his son's internal monologue regarding a people he had tried for decades to wipe out... But this was not Uther's Camelot anymore. Arthur was making sure of that. No, _he_ had no qualms with the Druids, but the same could not be said for the guards and knights who were stuck in Uther's Camelot, having grown up or grown old enforcing the Purge.

"Can you find your way back to your camp from here?"

Annan looked thoughtful for a moment, furrowing his brow over big brown eyes in child-like concentration before nodding at the king.

"Good." Arthur smiled at the boy, but felt a pang of uneasiness at letting a child wander the woods alone, even if he did live in them. He couldn't send a guard or a knight as escort. Even if it wouldn't be seen as inappropriate, there were very few who would walk into a Druid camp without taking issue, and none at all who wouldn't give the Druids a collective heart attack on arrival. He would just have to hope that Annan knew his way around the forest. He addressed the guards, "See that he finds his way out of the castle safely. Dismissed."

As the few people gathered in the throne room filed out, Arthur turned in his seat toward Merlin, who was approaching the side of the throne. "Do you want me to walk him back to his camp?" he asked in a low voice. "I'm worried about him being in the woods alone, and it's not like you can lend him an official escort." Arthur breathed a small laugh, equally amazed and concerned at how his manservant's train of thought often ran parallel to his own.

But this was Merlin, which meant Arthur was required to mask his laugh of amazement with one of good-natured derision. "And what are you going to do, _Mer_ lin? Protect him from the daffodils?" The servant gave his king a rather impressive eye-roll while he continued, "I hardly think it's any safer for the child if I just send _another_ child out after him." The servant cocked an eyebrow at his king, waiting for a serious reply. Arthur finally relented with a small grateful smile, "I'd appreciate that, Merlin. Do you not have a problem walking him to a Druid camp?"

Merlin gave a small snort, as if the question was ridiculous. Arthur thought the question was perfectly valid. After all, it was no secret to the king that magic made Merlin uncomfortable. "No, not at all. I run into Druids from time to time while I'm out gathering for Gaius, usually the same few who do the gathering for their clan, I think. I might recognize a few faces."

Arthur blinked. That was new. He knew there were Druid clans living closer to the city now that he had declared peace with them, but he didn't realize Merlin was out getting chummy with them. Though he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised, Merlin could walk into a broom cupboard and walk out with a new friend. "Very well. Just make sure you're back in time to prepare me for bed. I'll have someone else see to supper for Guinevere and I."

Merlin gave a small nod and jogged out of the throne room to catch up with his young charge. Arthur had a few small reservations about sending _Merlin_ out into the woods without a guard or a knight as escort, but trusted the man could manage one afternoon.

Arthur heaved a sigh, almost obscenely loud in the now empty throne room. He hadn't missed the looks of displeasure on on the faces of some of the nobles who had gathered when they heard another magic user was being brought before the king. Many of them, old retinue from Uther that Arthur had inherited along with the crown, were rather disapproving of the changes Arthur was making, like his leniency with the Druids, insistence that concrete evidence or witness be provided with accusations of magic, and unwillingness to call for an execution barring extreme circumstances. Arthur figured that these changes would be small enough for the council to swallow without too much political indigestion, but alas, he had overestimated his council. If they had a problem letting an innocent boy return to his family, they _really_ weren't going to like where this kingdom was headed. But he already knew that peace wasn't going to be easy.

 _I've got a lot of work to do._

* * *

Merlin racing through the corridors was hardly a novel sight anymore. Most servants, knights, and even a handful of the better-tempered nobles had become quite adept at avoiding his long limbs and tunnel vision. So it was with pounding steps and a rather ungraceful skid around a corner that Merlin caught up with the boy and his temporary escort at the west exit of the castle. He watched as the guards led him out onto the steps before closing rank behind him, as if they would need to physically stop him from reentering the castle. Annan turned and gave one last frightened look at the guards before running down the castle steps.

' _Annan, wait up! I'll walk you back!'_ Merlin called mentally, though he wasn't sure it would do much good. He had tried communicating with the boy in the throne room, trying to give him some reassurance that nothing bad was going to happen to him, but he gave no indication that he had heard. The kid obviously didn't even _have_ magic, but was brought before the king anyway. Well, it was obvious to Merlin, at least, but he couldn't exactly tell Arthur that. _No, sire, I know he didn't perform any magic. You see, when I used the Druidic method of thought-speech to talk to him, he couldn't even hear me, which means he has no magic, latent or learned. Also, he was not trying to enchant the bird. Healing is not enchanting. Your guard doesn't know what he's talking about._

Merlin snorted at the thought. Yeah, _that_ would go over well.

Merlin quickened his pace and tried calling the boy's name the old fashioned way. "Annan! Hey, wait up!" The boy whirled around, eyes blown wide before his sight settled on Merlin. He visibly relaxed, fear tempering out into a shy wariness. Merlin dropped to a squat when he reached the boy so he could speak to him at eye-level. He stuck out a hand. "Hi, I'm Merlin." Annan looked down at the outstretched hand a moment before shaking it as best he could.

"Hullo."

"Arthur sent me to make sure you got back to your camp safely. Is it okay if I come along?"

Annan chewed his lip in indecision. "I'm not s'posed to show where camp's at unless Lavie says so."

Merlin gave the child a warm smile. Yup, he _definitely_ didn't have any magic if he didn't recognize Merlin. It was refreshing to talk to a Druid who didn't automatically know he was Emrys, even if the Druid in question was only eight years old.

"I don't think Lavie would mind if I came along," Merlin smiled. He didn't know Lavie, of course, but he was only aware of one camp due west of the city. He asked in a low voice "Is Iseldir your chieftain?"

Annan's uncertainty morphed into bright hope. "You know 'Seldir?"

Merlin gave a quiet chuckle "Yeah, we're good friends." That wasn't perfectly true. Merlin had spoken with the man no more than a dozen times in half as many years, but they were certainly friendly, if nothing else. "C'mon," Merlin stood and offered a hand for Annan to hold while they walked through the busy street, "Let's get you home.

Annan grabbed on and tucked in close to Merlin's hip. His big brown eyes roved all up and down the bustling avenue, his earlier fear gradually giving way to wonder and awe. Merlin remembered the first time he stepped into Camelot, and imagined that his expression hadn't been much different. All of the vendors and artisans and street performers made for an impressive sight. "Is this your first time seeing the city, Annan?"

Annan tore his gaze away from the cart of a woman selling bright strands of glass beads and nodded, "Uh-huh."

He was about to ask the boy what he thought of it, when Annan tugged on his hand. "Hey mister Merlin, what's that?"

Merlin looked through the crowd to where the boy was pointing. "The well?"

Annan furrowed his little brow and looked up at Merlin, "Doesn' look like a well. Well's a big em'ty hole."

Merlin smiled. He remembered being equally confused by the spigot when he first arrived in Camelot. Gwen had to show him three times how to work it, and he could still hear her little snort as she tried not to laugh at the poor baffled country boy. "It's a different kind of well. This is where the people in the town get water. You wanna see how it works?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, so Merlin brought him over to the pump and dropped into a squat. "You see that big metal handle at the top? You lift it up, and when you push it down, clean water comes out of this little hole here." He gestured to the spigot. "Here, cup your hands and hold them right—there."

Annan did as he was instructed, and Merlin stepped up onto the worn stone platform behind the well and gave the lever a little pump. He watched the boy's eyes go wide and giggle in childish delight as the cold water gurgled up the pipe and splashed down into his tiny cupped hands. He looked up at his impromptu tour guide. "How's it do that, mister Merlin?"

Merlin gave him a confused smile. "I just grab this part here, and—" He cut himself off at the sight of Annan shaking his head, dirty blond curls all over the place. "I mean, how's the handle work? How's it bring water up?"

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but slowly closed it again as he realized he had no idea. He cocked his head. "You know, I'm not really sure."

Annan looked from the water in his hands, to the pump, and back to Merlin before asking in the excited and _loud_ voice of a child who had just puzzled out an answer, "Is it magic?"

Merlin swallowed a swear— _not in front of the child!—_ as he heard a clatter and a feminine gasp behind him. He whirled, nearly falling right off of the stone platform, and locked eyes with a young woman waiting to fill a bucket. A bucket that she had just dropped in favor of pressing her hand to her chest, as if the mere mention of magic would stop her heart if she didn't clutch at it protectively. Merlin jumped down from the spigot and drew Annan away from the well by the arm, making him spill his handfuls of water all over the flagstones.

"Ah, no, it's not magic," Merlin explained hastily, eyes darting between the boy and the woman. Because, really, the explanation seemed like it was for her benefit as much as it was Annan's, as ridiculous as that sounded. "I'm sure there's some...mechanical reason," he babbled, "that the spigot works, I'm just not sure how, that's all. There's probably someone in the city who can tell you exactly how it works, but why don't we just get you home, hm?" He grabbed a hand and steered the boy back in the direction of the western gates before sparing a glance over his shoulder, where he saw the woman retrieve her empty bucket and set off in the other direction. _Probably to find a different well._ He gave a small, sad sigh. These people were terrified of magic. It wasn't healthy.

At the gates, he gave the guards a small nod as he herded Annan out of the city, but they paid him no mind. _How can they know who's coming in and out of the city if they don't even look people in the eye?_ He brushed the thought aside. He wanted to address the issue of the lackadaisical guardsmen with Arthur at some point, but that day was not today.

No more than twenty paces from the city wall, Annan gasped, abruptly broke away from Merlin's grasp and bolted a few feet into the tall grass. "Annan!" Merlin cried in reprimand, weaving through the grass to follow the boy. He was crouched over something, and Merlin copied the crouch to see what he was looking at on the ground.

"It's the birdie! It's still here!" Annan stage-whispered.

In the grass lay a little sparrow, one wing bloodied and bent all out of shape. It didn't move, aside from its little grey breast heaving in rapid, labored breaths. Merlin's heart squeezed, and he saw Annan's lower lip quiver just a little. He reached up under his neckerchief and undid the knot before pulling it off. He draped it over the bird and gently scooped it up, spreading long fingers under the broken wing to try and stabilize it as much as possible.

"C'mon, Annan." Merlin said, cradling the bird. "Let's see if we can find some way to fix him up. You go ahead and lead the way to camp."

Merlin followed the boy into the woods. No more than a league past the tree line, Annan turned to look back at him. "How're you gonna help it, mister Merlin?"

Merlin stopped walking and gave a quick glance around. After determining that no one was near, he gestured for Annan to come over. He smiled at the boy. "Why don't you tell me what you tried?"

Annan bit his lip, clearly unsure if he should repeat the spell he tried to use despite having no magic. Merlin couldn't blame him for his caution—whatever he had said had caused him a lot of trouble that afternoon.

"Go ahead," Merlin encouraged, "it's alright."

"Well..." Annan began slowly, "When Fenian broke his ankle in the creek, Lavie said that bones need special spells to heal, because you have t'make sure the bones go back t'gether the right way. If you don't use the special spell, then the bones don't go back together. Her bone spell is..." Annan scrunched up his nose, trying to say the complicated words correctly, "an-lay-can, thor-heelay bon bree-kay."

Merlin tried not to chuckle at the boy's pronunciation, but he thought he got the idea. While he had become decent at healing, the young warlock didn't know many healing spells and very little about magical healing theory. What Annan said made sense. After all, according to Gaius, a bone must be properly set and aligned for it to knit back together. If it isn't properly set, the bone itself will heal, but not fuse.

"Well, then I guess we'll start with that, then," Merlin said brightly. He took a deep breath and gathered his magic to pool in the palm of his right hand, the one spread under the sparrow's broken wing. " _Anlæcan. Þurhhæle bánbryce."_

Merlin felt the familiar heat behind his eyes and saw the edges of his vision tint with gold. The small space between his hand and the bird grew warm, and he watched as the delicate little bones of the sparrow's wing realigned and returned the wing to its unbroken shape. A moment of confusion budded when he saw that the skin and feathers remained unaffected. _Well, I suppose that was a very specific healing spell. It probably needs something different for the skin._

" _Þurhhæle dolgbenn."_

Merlin watched in satisfaction as the muscle and skin in the wing slowly closed and the mangled feathers repaired themselves.

"Woah..." Annan breathed.

The sparrow's rapid, labored breathing slowed, and with a flutter, it scrambled up onto its feet. It hopped from Merlin's cloth-covered hands up onto his sleeve where it gave a little chirp and took off for the branches high above their head. The pair of them craned their necks to watch it disappear amongst the leaves.

"You did it!" Annan shrieked, his excitement tearing through the quiet of the forest.

" _Annan?!"_

Merlin snapped his head to his left, where he heard a woman shout the boy's name. Bushes and branches crackled and snapped and she came tearing through the brush toward them. Merlin instinctively stepped in front of his young charge, but Annan darted around him and toward the voice. "Lavie!"

A feminine figure broke from the foliage. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen summers, with auburn hair tied up in a headscarf and big brown eyes like Annan's. The young woman tore her broadcloth skirt free of the brambles and ran to the little boy, dropping to her knees in front of him and drawing him into a tight hug. "Don't you dare run off like that again! I've been looking for you for hours! When Gavan found you before the king, I nearly had a heart attack!"

"How did you know he was brought before the king?"

The woman, who Merlin has gathered was the aforementioned Lavie, glanced up at Merlin, surprised to see someone with Annan but primarily concerned with the boy. Her gaze went back to Annan for a moment to look him over, but snapped back up to Merlin in recognition. Her eyes widened almost comically as realization hit her like a runaway warhorse.

" _Emrys?!"_ she breathed.

Annan wriggled out of her grasp. "No," he said, clearly confused, "that's mister Merlin. King Arthur made him come with me when he told me I could go home."

The young woman looked between the two of them rapidly. Merlin tried to mask his uneasiness at her gawking with one of his signature, friendly, lopsided smiles. He loped over and extended a hand to help her up. "It's nice to meet you, Lavie. I've heard a lot about you today."

She winced. "Please, call me Lavena." She stared at his hand for a moment before accepting it gingerly. "You did not need to come all the way out here, my lord. I'm sorry for any inconvenience my brother may have caused you." When she was on her feet, she bowed her head, and it was Merlin's turn to wince.

"Oh, I'm—ah—I'm not a lord." He stammered. "See?" He spread his arms and spun in a circle. "Just your regular bedraggled peasant."

Annan giggled, and Lavena hushed him. "Annan! We do not laugh at Emrys!"

Merlin could feel the heat of a blush rush to his ears. "Oh, no, it's okay. Really. Everyone laughs at Emrys. Even Emrys laughs at Emrys." He gave an awkward chuckle, then swallowed the prattle threatening to overtake him. "But please, call me Merlin."

Lavena opened her mouth to say something, but Annan beat her to it. "Are you really Emrys, mister Merlin?"

Merlin crouched in front of he boy. "Yes, I am," he admitted with a small smile. That smile turned into a full-blown laugh when Annan exclaimed, "Wow! I spent all day with Emrys! Lavie—" He tugged on her skirt, "—he doesn't know how a well works!"

Poor Lavena appeared to be stuck in a terrible place between awe, mortification, and confusion.

Merlin stood. "I'm sure Annan will be more than happy to tell you all about his day. He's been quite a busy little man this afternoon." Merlin cocked his head. "Speaking of, how did you know he was brought before Arthur, again?"

The young woman blinked herself out her daze. "Gavan, one of the seers of our clan, scried him earlier. When I saw him on his knees before the throne, I—" She cut off as her voice broke.

"It's okay," Merlin soothed. "I wouldn't have let any harm come to him."

Lavena looked down at her little brother, the fear of losing him written all over her face. "Why was he even there? What happened?"

Merlin shifted and clicked his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth. "Ah, I believe he was trying to heal a bird."

Lavena's brow knit in confusion. She looked down at Annan, "Annan, you don't have magic."

The little boy pouted. "But I didn't know how else to help." The pout morphed into a smile, and he beamed at Merlin. "But mister Merlin fixed it! And I helped! I gave him your special bone spell!"

"I'm sure Emrys—er," she glanced up at the warlock, "—Merlin would have been able to do it all on his own."

Merlin chuckled. "Hardly. I only know a few healing spells, and I've never had any of them work on a fracture before. It sounds like you're quite the accomplished healer."

A blush crept up the young woman's shocked face. "Really? I—I mean, thank you. But, I'm no great healer."

"A sight greater than me, by the sounds of things," Merlin admitted with a smile. He was no shabby healer, provided he understood the mechanics of both the spell and the problem. Living with the court physician certainly helped with the latter, and having a natural mind for magic—essentially _being_ magic—certainly helped with the former. However, while he had gotten decent at altering spells to fit his needs, and on the rare occasion, crafting new ones, he wasn't quite comfortable applying this to healing. Especially since most of his healing experience had been in rather dire situations that didn't lend well to experimentation. Merlin shrugged, "I can't scry either. I've tried a couple of times in water, but I haven't gotten anywhere with it yet."

Lavena blinked. "Are you a seer? I've only ever known seers to be able to scry visually."

Merlin grinned. "No, I'm not. But that's good to know." He loved learning new things about magic.

Annan gave his sister's skirt another tug. "Lavie, can mister Merlin-Emrys come to camp with us?"

Lavena and Merlin both turned to find the sun through the branches of the trees. The sun had sunk low enough that it had begun bathing everything in a beautiful golden light. Dusk would be upon them within the hour, and he was still at least an hour from the city gates. "I don't know if he'll have time to tonight, Annan..." Lavena began, turning a quizzical look toward the warlock.

"Mm, probably not tonight," Merlin mused, and dropped to a squat to address the boy eye-to-eye, "But I promise to come visit sometime soon. How's that sound?"

Annan nodded enthusiastically, clearly excited for that day, and it warmed Merlin's heart. He was almost as excited as Annan to pay a visit to Iseldir's camp, something he had been wanting to do for over a year now, but between Arthur's ascension to the throne, losing and retaking Camelot, and his ever-increasing serving duties, he hadn't made time.

"I'm sure we would all appreciate a visit," Lavena said warmly. She held a hand out to her brother. "Come. We should try to make it back to camp before dark." She looked up to Merlin. "It was an honor to meet you, Merlin. I cannot thank you enough for looking after Annan."

Merlin gave her a bright grin. "It was my pleasure, really. Please, take care."

"You as well."

It was with a lightness in his heart that he turned and headed back toward the castle. A stressful afternoon had turned into a rather pleasant evening. He looked back up toward the sun, trying to track the time. He should have at least a couple of hours before Arthur and Gwen finished with supper.

 _And I might have just enough time to knock out a few chores before the night is over._

* * *

It was hardly an hour after sunset when Merlin entered Arthur's chambers, basket of clean laundry tucked under one arm. He was surprised to see a few candles already lit, and wondered what servant came in to light the king's chambers and left before finishing the job. That was until he saw said king sitting in the window sill, staring out at the courtyard.

"You're back from supper early," Merlin noted.

Arthur hummed in response. He was lounging in the little alcove where the stained glass window was set, one leg propped in front of him, left hand propped under his chin while his right picked idly at the chipped mortar between the bricks under his seat.

"I thought I told you to leave that alone until we get a mason in to repair it," Merlin nagged, not bothering to look up from the tunic he was folding at the foot of Arthur's bed. "You're just making his job harder. And the fix more expensive, I might add."

"I'm the king, Merlin. I do as I please," was Arthur's distracted reply as he flicked a small chunk of mortar onto he floor. But nevertheless, Arthur stood from his perch by the window and sat back down heavily at the small table near his empty fire place, mouth pressed into laced fingers and brow drawn in contemplation. Merlin observed his king's pensive behavior as he puttered about putting away laundry and lighting the remainder of the candles. Arthur must have lit the few that were already burning himself. He looked down at the lit candle stub in one hand and the pair of extremely flammable trousers in the other and decided he ought to focus on one task at a time. Once the room was lit and Merlin had returned to sorting the laundry, the servant had decided to address his king.

"Arthur, is everything alright?"

The king took a deep breath as if preparing himself for something unpleasant before nodding toward the seat across from him. "Merlin, sit down."

Merlin tossed a set of nightclothes over the changing screen, dumped the now empty laundry basket in the corner by the wardrobe, and joined Arthur at the table. He noticed that Arthur had dropped one hand to the table's edge where he scraped a thumbnail over a small splintered portion in the oak. Arthur tended to pick at and destroy things when he was nervous, a tic he only ever displayed in private, but one that resulted in a lot of rough edges on various surfaces littered about his chambers. And a small channel dug into the inside of the right armrest on his throne, but Merlin was sure he was the only person who knew that was there.

"What's going on? Has something happened?"

Arthur must have realized he was picking at the table and laced his fingers back together. "Merlin, I've been thinking—oh, don't look at me like that, you idiot—I've been thinking, and I think... I think we're wrong."

Merlin waited for the king to continue, and frowned when Arthur seemed to deem that an appropriate place to end a sentence. "Wrong about...?" he prompted.

Arthur sat back and carded a hand through his hair. Whatever was going on, it was stressing the man out. "This is going to sound a little mad, but I've been giving it a lot of thought recently. I need you to hear me out, and really listen to what I'm saying. I need some feedback... But I need you to keep an open mind." The look in the king's pale blue eyes was a curious mix of apprehension and determination, and the intensity there concerned Merlin. Where was this going?

"Arthur, you're stalling."

"What if..." Arthur swallowed, "What if we're wrong about magic? What if it's not as evil as we think it is?"

Merlin's body froze while his brain split into several pieces, each screaming very different reactions.

 _Why would he say that? Did he see something? You idiot, you should have been more careful! Did he_ see _something?!_

 _We? What the hell do you mean we?!_

 _Oh gods, it's a trap. He knows. He knows he knows he knows..._

 _Is he serious? It's about damn time!_

Evidently, none of the pieces of his brain had taken up the task of making sure Merlin continued to breathe, and he soon found himself abruptly lightheaded. Were those spots always there?

"Merlin, for heaven's sake, breathe!"

Merlin's lungs obeyed his king far more readily than he ever did, and the spots cleared from his vision. He looked up into Arthur's alarmed expression, numbly hoping that his face hadn't reflected too much of his internal panic.

"What—" his voice cracked, and he coughed to clear his throat. _Stupid internal panic._ "What made you think that?"

Arthur took a deep breath and launched into a speech that Merlin dimly realized sounded half-rehearsed. "Consider the Druids. They're a peaceful people. They've never sought to harm Camelot or the crown, they didn't even try to fight back or talk us out of stealing the Cup of Life from them, and I recall them healing Leon. They used magic to heal an armed and decorated knight of Camelot, and then just let him leave. My father believed it manipulation, but I know Leon saw it as an act of good will, and I'm inclined to agree with him. Gaius practiced sorcery for far longer than he's sworn off of it, and he clearly hasn't been corrupted. In fact, I can't imagine him acting ill toward anyone, and he must have been using magic for decades.

"And the boy today. If someone had actually seen him do magic, I would have been expected to pass judgement on a child for healing a bird. That's no more an evil act than the man who was brought before me last month for saying he talked to his wheat to make it grow, or the woman whose mending was so flawless 'it had to be magic.' Not only are my citizens turning on each other with the smallest provocation, but even if it were magic, how can I in good conscience sentence people for helping their neighbors? If magic can be used like this, why are we hating people for it?"

Merlin sat in stunned silence, in too much shock to even nod in agreement. He knew all of this. He knew this perhaps better than anyone in the palace, but Arthur must have misread Merlin's wide-eyed stare, because he continued, "Think about it. What if there are good people out there capable of using magic? What if they're good people who use magic for good deeds, and the only reason we never see them is because they're trying not to cause trouble? Maybe it depends on the person wielding it to determine if it's to be used for good or evil. I was thinking, maybe magic is like a sword—"

Arthur cut off abruptly at the strangled noise that managed to escape Merlin at that line. Merlin had been trying to figure out how to break the news to Arthur about magic for _years,_ and he was _not_ going to listen to his own brilliantly crafted sword analogy be used against him like this. _Say something! You need to say something!_

"Okay," Merlin began tentatively, "let's say that I agree with you—"

"You don't have to agree with me right away," Arthur interrupted. "I know that this is a radical idea. I see that. And I know that this is scary, especially for you, but I think—"

This time it was Merlin's turn to interrupt. "Hold on, what do you mean 'especially for me?'" Dread settled in his stomach with the weight of a thousand lies. _Oh gods, he knows. He knows he knows he—_

"You're terrified of magic, Merlin."

That was enough to send all of Merlin's panic skittering to a halt. _What?_

"What?"

Arthur huffed a tiny laugh. "What do you mean 'what?' Any time the subject of magic comes up or something magical happens around here, you get this—" Arthur fluttered his hand in Merlin's general direction, as if struggling to vocalize just what it was the man did, "—frazzled look about you like some sorcerer is going to start chasing you through the corridors at any moment. I just mentioned that magic might not be entirely evil, and you _stopped breathing_."

Merlin frowned. He supposed it was conceivable to make the assumption that he was afraid of magic, seeing as every time a magical occurrence cropped up, he had to deal with it personally. And he _had_ been chased through the corridors on occasion. And it may have also been true that every time Arthur tried to discuss magic, either in seriousness or in jest, Merlin spent half the time sure that he had been found out and the other half despairing at not being able to truly discuss it freely. Actually, now that Merlin thought about it, those conversations did seem to be happening more and more frequently over the last several months...

"Arthur," he began carefully, "what exactly are you thinking?"

The king stood and paced a short distance toward the cold hearth, carding a hand through his hair again. He circled back around and gripped the back of his chair before meeting his manservant's eyes. "I'm thinking I can't rule a people who are already ruled by terror and hate. I'm thinking... It might be time to re-examine some of Camelot's laws."

Merlin's breath caught. He didn't know whether to laugh or sob or beam with pride, and for a fragile moment, he was afraid his face would try to do all three at once. There was suddenly a lump in his throat, and it tasted like destiny. It tasted like hope, and freedom, and a love for his king.

It tasted like Albion.

This was it. This was dawn breaking over Albion, the ideal that Merlin had given up so much for, laid down his life for, lied and sacrificed and chased with every breath. For the first time in his young, sorcerous life, Merlin might be a free man. His heart soared—

"I'm also thinking there's no possible way I can do this."

—and his stomach dropped. _This conversation is going to give me a hernia._

"N-no!" Merlin practically wailed. "Of course you can do this! Why couldn't you do this?" If Arthur heard the underlying desperation in Merlin's tone, he elected to ignored it.

Arthur pulled his chair back out and sat down across from his young friend, propping his elbows on the table and dropping his head into his hands. "Because I don't know the first thing about magic, Merlin." He looked up, and Merlin could see a weariness there that told of a man who had spent many long nights thinking this over. "How am I supposed to draft laws and pitch this to the council and answer their questions when I know nothing about magic or the people who use it?"

Merlin frowned, "Why not just learn?"

"You're a scholar among fools, Merlin, truly," Arthur deadpanned. "In case it's passed you by, I am the king of Camelot, a kingdom where magic has been banned on penalty of death for nearly the last three decades. Who am I supposed to learn from? As a Pendragon, I don't exactly have many magical friends."

 _Not many, but I can think of one. "_ What about Gaius?" Merlin asked instead. "He used to practice magic. He could probably tell you anything you want to know.

Arthur grimaced, "Gaius has been busy as of late. I don't want to add to his workload with this. I'd be asking him to not only teach me, but answer my questions, help me draft and revise laws, attend meetings with people involved with the magical community to discuss reintegration... It would be extremely time consuming. But I may have no choice."

Merlin winced. Between aiding in three births in the last month and a small outbreak of sweating sickness in the lower town, the poor physician had been running himself ragged. Merlin had been helping him out as best he could, of course, but it was still a lot of work even for two sets of hands, and Merlin had his own serving duties to attend to. Yes, he could see why the king was reluctant to ask the old man for help. He was starting to look a little haggard on the best of days.

"What about the Druids?" Merlin posed. "I'm sure one of the chieftains would be happy to talk with you." _Especially if I ask._

"The Druids aren't exactly politically inclined," Arthur sighed. "Besides, as nice as they seem, I don't know any of them, at least not well enough to trust with something this important. I need someone I can trust to be objective, to educate me about how and why magic is used without taking advantage of that position. Someone I'm comfortable enough with to ask questions. I just wish..." The king scrubbed a tired hand over his face and gave a dry little laugh. "I wish there were someone I was close to who had magic and hasn't used it to try and kill me. Here I am, wanting to give magic a chance, and I don't even know any good magic users."

"What about me?"

Merlin mentally slapped himself. He hadn't meant to ask that out loud, he really hadn't. But for all his power, he couldn't magically grab the words out of the air and shove them back into his mouth where they belonged. But hope mixed with his natural lack of verbal self control mixed with a damning sense of irony, and he just couldn't help himself.

Unfortunately, Arthur just gave him a look that said ' _Oh, you poor idiot.'_ "Merlin, I don't doubt that, between living outside of Camelot most of your life and living with Gaius since you've been here, you've probably been exposed to more non-hostile magic than I have. Maybe you've even picked up a little magic theory here and there. But I need someone who is _familiar_ with magic. And who isn't going to be scared out of his—admittedly limited—wits when I start meeting with members of the magical community. So while I do appreciate the offer, I don't think—"

"No, Arthur. You don't understand. I..." He couldn't just let his friend flounder like this, right? This was his moment, _the_ moment. This was destiny, Albion, he had been working toward this opportunity for years. He had to help. He had to. _Am I really doing this? Ye gods, am I really doing this? Am I really, actually—_

"Arthur, I have magic."

* * *

 **Spells: (I'll try to keep a list of these at the end of every chapter. I always like translations. Also, I'll be making some of these up, so my Old English probably sucks, but whatever.)**

" _ **Anlæcan. Þurhhæle bánbryce." — Unite. (Thoroughly) Heal the broken bone.**_

" _ **Þurhhæle dolgbenn." — (Thoroughly) Heal the wound.**_

 **This chapter was about twice as long as I was anticipating. If I continue, they probably won't be quite this long, but we'll see.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 _ **-Red**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! There seemed to be an overwhelming consensus of** _ **Keep writing!**_ **so, here's Ch. 2! You guys are amazing. A lot of you left really wonderful reviews that totally made my day. But most of my best reviews came from guests, which means I can't reply to you. And I totally would if I could. So, y'all should definitely make accounts. It's fast, it's easy, and it's free—the trifecta of a good time.**

 **Anywho, I've gotten a little more of the plot figured out, and will try to get a new chapter up every week or so, give or take a few days. Again, I am making up most of this as I go and I don't have betas, so if you have an idea or suggestion for this story, drop a comment or shoot me a message, and I'll see what I can do.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 2

 _What have I done?_

Merlin was fairly certain he looked even more shocked than Arthur, but truthfully, he was having a hard time focusing on the other man's face. Did he really just say that? _Out loud?_ To _Arthur?_

Every muscle in his body drew painfully taught and his pulse pounded in his ears. It sounded an awful lot like _'stu-pid, stu-pid, stu-pid...'_ His breath came and went in tiny, shallow puffs, and he knew that if he didn't get control of himself soon, he was going to start seeing spots again. He tried to sit up straight, to look proud and strong and not like he was about to lose his lunch all over the king's decorative bowl of fruit. He wasn't sure how to proceed. Apologize? Explain? Flee?

Flee was sounding like he best option. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to just disappear, vanish from the conversation without a trace and leave Arthur thinking he had hallucinated the whole ordeal. He felt a familiar warm pressure build just beneath his breastbone—his magic riling and ready to get him out of what it recognized as a dangerous situation—and panic seized him again. He slammed a lifetime of control down on the magic so hard and fast that he saw those spots he had been trying to avoid. _No! You will_ not _disappear in front of the king!_

With a will like iron, Merlin focused on his friend's face, expecting to see all of the things he had feared from this moment—hurt, betrayal, disgust, rage... But he was instead met with a look of tired exasperation. He knew that look. That was Arthur's _'I don't have time for this'_ look. If he weren't so numb from the shock of his latest lapse of reason, Merlin might have been offended.

The king dropped his head into his hands again with a bone-weary sigh. He spent a few long moments massaging his fingers into his hairline. Slowly, he scrubbed both hands over his face before speaking. "Merlin, please. I am trying to be—"

A tiny, pained sound in the back of Merlin's throat cut the king off abruptly. He snapped his head up to look at the servant. Merlin watched the exasperation melt right off of his friend's face, wide-eyed realization taking over. He didn't want to know what his own expression looked like, but judging from the heat in his face, the tension in his jaw, and the pinch in his brow, he would bet that his internal panic had very much become external.

"...Serious." The king continued weakly. He pointed a finger at the younger man. "You— You're... Serious."

Merlin tried to speak, but the Albion-sized lump still lodged firmly in his windpipe wouldn't allow it. He could only nod, a movement that quickly became frantic and uncontrolled.

Arthur stared at him, dazed and shocked. "You're serious..." He repeated. The king took a shaky inhale and looked away for a moment. "How long, Merlin?" He asked quietly.

The reply was just as quiet. "All my life."

Arthur closed his eyes, but not before Merlin caught the sadness and pain held there. He lowered his eyes to the tabletop. _I'm sorry,_ he wanted to say. _For lying. For hiding. For keeping this from you, my friend. For being a coward._ But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to apologize, not when he had worn the fear of execution, rejection, and hatred like a cloak of lead since he was a child. But here he was, hoping that Arthur would see him as a trustworthy magic-user, a _friend,_ when he had been lying to the man for the better part of a decade. _By the gods, he'll never trust me again. He'll never trust me again, and I don't even blame him._

"Arthur," he forced out, "I wanted to tell you. So many times, I wanted to tell you. I was just..." His voice petered out. When he found it again, it was quiet, breathy. Broken. "...I was scared. I've been hiding all my life. It's all I know."

"Merlin, this is exactly what I'm talking about."

Merlin looked up sharply, confusion taking the edge off of his despair. The king had his head tilted back over the back of his chair, one forearm resting over his eyes. He took a deep breath before dropping his arm back to the table and meeting his servant's gaze. There was a sadness and an anger there that very much made Merlin want to look away.

"This is _exactly_ what I'm talking about," Arthur repeated, prodding the surface of the table in emphasis. "You shouldn't have been scared."

"Arthur, I—"

"No, Merlin. You shouldn't have _had_ to be scared. You, _of all people,_ should have not been afraid to tell _me._ Of _all people._ "

Merlin shook his head, "Arthur, I don't..."

"Merlin, you're the most loyal man I have. You've been by my side unwaveringly for years, and I would be a fool to ignore that." Arthur's gaze bored into Merlin's, and the conviction and honesty there shook Merlin to his soul. "I would have _never_ had you executed," he said slowly, deliberately. "Do you hear me? _Never._ "

A tiny, watery laugh bubbled it's way out of Merlin's mouth, wildly dissonant with the storm of emotion raging inside of his chest. "I wasn't afraid of execution." He gave a small half-shrug, "At least, I haven't been for a long time." And that was true. After all, no cell could hold him, no chain could bind him, and no fire would light if he bade it not to. The young man lowered his gaze again. "I was... I was afraid of being hated. Of having to leave. Of having to leave _you._ " Merlin took a fortifying breath and straightened, echoing the words Arthur had spoken to him nearly a year ago. "You're the closest fiend I have and I couldn't bear to lose you."

The corners of Arthur's mouth quirked just slightly. "I believe I said you were my only friend."

The ghost of a grin tugged weakly at Merlin's features. "Well, I've still got Gwen."

Arthur gave a staccato exhale, a single puff of laughter. His gaze went distant, and so the king missed the effect that short interaction had on his friend. At just two lines of their familiar banter, the smallest hint of laughter from his king, Merlin broke. In that instant, the weight of what had just happened collided with the knowledge that _everything is going to be okay_ , and the tears fell hot and fast and silent down his face.

Arthur, gaze still a thousand yards over Merlin's right shoulder, shook his head. "But don't you see? That's even worse. That means that hatred and prejudice are so damn _strong_ here that... That it even wormed its way between _us._ I tell you everything, confide in you _everything_ , and you should have been able to..."

He must have finally brought his focus back to his servant, because he trailed off and stared at the younger man. At least, that was the impression Merlin got—it was rather difficult to make out the details through the tears. He didn't like to cry in front of Arthur, though it had happened a time or two. Never like this, though. Never had he broken down and sobbed in front of the king, but in light of the the fact that he had just revealed his biggest secret to the one man whom he was most afraid to tell, in light of the fact that he wasn't being shunned, hated, or sentenced like he had envisioned over and over and _over..._ Well, Merlin felt that he was entitled to a little display of emotion. At least, that's what he used later to justify the silent, frame-rattling sobs wracking his body.

Merlin wiped the backs of his hands furiously over his eyes. His face was a wet mess, and somewhere in the back of his mind—somewhere behind all of the shock, fear, joy, despair, and relief—a tiny seed of embarrassment sprouted and was quickly lost. He couldn't believe it. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he _needed_ to say, but he couldn't find the words. He couldn't form a single coherent thought past _'It's going to be okay.'_

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, and slowly he turned his gaze back on his king. "I will make this right. I swear it. Our people have been poisoned for too long on hate and fear. This has to end."

There was a heavy timbre in the man's voice, one that held the weight of thousands of years of prophecy. _Our people._ And there in that near empty bedchamber, illuminated only by a few dozen half-burnt candles and the shining promise of a brighter future, Merlin watched in awed reverence as the mantle of the Once and Future King settled firmly onto Arthur's royal shoulders, bestowed by Destiny's own hand. Pride and passion welled up inside Merlin, and in the presence of his King, he felt like Emrys. The Druidic title sang in his bones, and for the first time, he rejoiced in it. _The dawn of Albion,_ he thought to himself, _and we're pulling it over the horizon._ Visions of light and warmth and love banishing the shadows of senseless persecution danced before his mind's eye. _This is really happening._

Merlin locked eyes with his king. "And I'm going to help you end it. We can do this, Arthur. _Together._ "

A curious look came over Arthur's eyes. Was that... Was that _doubt?_

"Are you certain you're, you know..." He twirled a hand in the servant's direction, " _qualified_ for this? It's going to be an extremely important and delicate job. Are you sure you can do this for me?"

Merlin nodded. _I was born for this. Literally._ "I would be honored to advise you and show you the good of magic, sire. I will not let you down."

The doubt eased from he king's eyes a little bit. "You never have. You're a loyal friend, Merlin." A mock-thoughtful expression stole over Arthur's face. "Even if you have been lying to me for years."

Merlin winced. "I didn't want to. I hated keeping this from you. I'm sorry, Arthur, I just couldn't—"

Arthur held up a hand to silence him. "I understand the position you were in, Merlin. You don't have to explain it to me. I don't blame you for this."

The young sorcerer winced harder. _Oh, don't say that just yet._ "Actually... There's a lot I have to explain to you."

"Perhaps," Arthur cut him off, "but not tonight. I think we both have enough to think about tonight."

For what may have been the first time in his career as a manservant, Merlin didn't argue with his master. They sat in a pensive silence for what felt like an eternity before Arthur broke it.

"...You're _serious?"_ Incredulity stitched through Arthur's features. He lounged back in his seat, brows pinched and staring at his young friend like he had just admitted to being half horse. His eyes raked over Merlin's face, like if he looked hard enough, he would be able to _see_ the sorcery in the man.

The corners of Merlin's mouth twitched upwards. "Yeah." He gave a small one-sided shrug, "I'm a warlock, Arthur."

The dubious pinch in the king's brow turned into one of confusion. "I don't know what that means."

Merlin's small grin broadened, "Well, then consider this your first lesson in magic." Arthur's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he leant forward over the tabletop, hands clasped and resting on his forearms. The king nodded in his direction, as if to say _'Go on.'_ He looked interested, and Merlin couldn't have been more pleased. "There are three types of people," he continued. "You have people who are born with the natural ability to do magic, people born with the potential to learn magic, and people who are completely incapable of performing magic. People who are born with the ability to do magic, like me, are warlocks. Or witches, if you're a woman."

Arthur looked just the slightest bit uncomfortable, but nodded. "So... Witches and warlocks don't have to learn magic? You just... what? Know it?"

Merlin hummed, "Something like that. It's more like an instinct or a reflex. Most witches and warlocks learn that they have magic sometime around adolescence, but it can be any time in a person's life. Something triggers a strong emotional response—anger, surprise, fear—and the person's innate magic reacts to the trigger. At that point, they usually have to study sorcery to control it."

The king nodded again, and quirked a small, mocking smile. "So, how did adolescent Merlin find out he had magic? What's the story there?"

Merlin scratched at the back of his head self-consciously. "Ah, I didn't find out I had magic, really. I've been doing magic since before I could walk." He smiled, "My mother told me that _she_ found out I had magic a couple of weeks after I was born. I magicked her headscarf right off of her head because I wanted to play with it. When she turned around, she saw the magic in my eyes." The young warlock gave a small snort. "A bit of a relief that was, actually. It explained why things ended up on the floor when she wasn't looking and why nothing seemed to be where she left it. She thought we had a poltergeist."

Arthur laughed, "Poor Hunith. I bet you were hell in a cradle!"

"We couldn't afford a cradle, now pipe down—we're not through with your lesson." Arthur tried and failed to school his expression to something more serious, but the curiosity returned to his eyes. Merlin pushed past the surreal feeling of teaching Arthur— _Arthur! Of all people!—_ about magic and continued. "Second, you have sorcerers, or sorceresses. Technically, anyone who uses formal magic, spells and incantations and such, is a sorcerer. So really, I'm both a warlock and a sorcerer, since I use both innate and learned magic."

Merlin saw the way Arthur swallowed hard when he referred to himself as a sorcerer, but decided to ignore it. _It'll take time,_ he reminded himself. "Most people have the capacity for magic, but they have to spend _years_ of study and meditation before they can actually cast anything."

"That sounds terrible," Arthur interjected.

Merlin thought for a moment. "Well, not really. Let's go back to your sword analogy, how long do your squires train either empty-handed or with wooden practice swords before you actually give them a steel blade?"

The king tilted his head side-to-side and acquiesced. "Okay, a couple of years, at least."

"And you have some who are able to execute the forms with little training and have superior reflexes—"

"Like me," Arthur interrupted.

Merlin cocked an eyebrow at him and continued. "And those who have to spend years refining their forms before they're effective or who are naturally uncoordinated—"

"Like you," Arthur smirked.

The young sorcerer looked to the heavens and shook his head. "Why do you have to be such an ass?"

"Sorry, my mistake," Arthur corrected. "You could train for years and never manage any semblance of competency with a sword."

"Hey, I could definitely beat you in a fair fight now that I don't have to hide what I can do anymore," Merlin retorted. "I don't even need a sword."

Something in the king's face sobered. "You will have to hide, for just a little bit longer. I'm sorry, Merlin, you shouldn't have to. I don't want you to. But until I can figure out a way to get the council to agree on a plan for the allowance of magic—"

Merlin shook his head and beamed at his friend. "Arthur, it's okay. I've been hiding my whole life, never knowing if there would ever be a day when I could stop. And now that I _know_ that day will come?" He chuckled, "I don't mind it so much anymore."

"Of course," Arthur waved a lazy hand at his servant, "that doesn't mean you still have to hide from me."

This time it was Merlin's brow that pinched in confusion. "I'm... Not. I did just tell you that I have magic." His stomach gave a happy flutter. _I just told you that I have magic!_

"Yes, but..." Arthur chewed the inside of his lip in indecision before nodding at the newly discovered sorcerer. "Go on. Show me."

Merlin's eyes blew wide, and that happy flutter turned into an uncomfortable flop. "You want me— you want me to do magic? What, _now?_ "

Arthur rolled his eyes, "No, you idiot, I want you to come back an hour before first light— yes now!"

He was being asked... He was actually being asked to... by _Arthur._ Though his voice was teasing and familiar, and his posture eager, Merlin could still see an underlying current of fear in his friend's eyes. The young warlock mulled over what he could show Arthur for his first real display of friendly magic. He looked to the candle on the table. _Animate the flame? Ember creatures?_ That was a favorite of his when it came to playing with magic, but... No, there was something inherently dangerous-looking about commanding fire. Merlin wanted something that was undoubtedly benign.

He looked down at his hands. _I could conjure something, maybe? Something small?_ No, not that, either. The only things he could reliably conjure were the elements and flowers. He had already ruled out fire, wind wasn't exactly close-quarters-friendly, and somehow he didn't think that Arthur would appreciate him covering his tabletop in water or sand. And he was _not_ going to conjure a flower for his first open act of magic. _The prat already thinks I'm a girl. I'd never hear the end of it._

Merlin glanced around the room, searching for inspiration. _Something simple, something familiar..._ He saw Arthur's sword and belt propped up against the small cabinet where he kept the supplies used to clean the king's rooms. _Polish the sword? He's seen me do that without magic a hundred times._ Then again, maybe levitating a weapon wasn't the best first impression...

He twisted in his chair to get a better view of the room behind him, and inspiration struck. He turned back toward his king. "Alright, watch your bed."

Skepticism raised one of Arthur's brows. "My... Bed?"

Merlin gave a small huff of mock-exasperation. "Just— watch, okay?" Merlin directed a stern glance toward the bed and watched through gold-edged vision as the bedclothes turned themselves down, the decorative shams removed themselves from the feather pillows and folded into a neat stack on the floor, and the pillows fluffed themselves mid-air before settling at the head of the bed.

Merlin re-settled himself in his seat and looked at Arthur, and he didn't know whether to laugh or cringe. The man's eyes were the widest he had ever seen them, and he stared at the magicked piece of furniture as if Merlin had enchanted it to sing tavern songs instead. He locked those wide eyes on his servant, and Merlin could read the message behind them: _You're serious!_

The royal blinked the shock from his face. "Merlin," he began, "I can't..." Whatever the man was about to say was lost as a new thought seemed to take precedence. "Hang on," he frowned, "is _that_ how you've been managing all your chores?"

Merlin snickered. "Sometimes. But it's your fault for giving me so many, really. I don't know how you expect one man to do as many things as you assign me in a day." A smirk quirked the corner of Merlin's mouth. "Ironically enough, it was magic that was keeping me _out_ of the stocks when I first started working for you. It was the only way I could get everything done!"

Arthur barked a short laugh. "I always wondered how you managed that! You're the laziest man I know, and yet you would finish the work of three servants—"

"Wait," Merlin interrupted, "you _knew_ you were giving me the work of three servants?" He balked at his master. "Why do you have to be _such_ an ass?" he repeated.

The king reached over and punched his young friend in the arm, and true to form, Merlin gave an exaggerated flinch and rubbed at the site. He glared and groused, but his playful complaining did nothing to hide the absolute elation in his eyes. He told Arthur! He _showed_ Arthur! _And everything was going to be okay!_ But still, a small thought nagged at him...

"...You're really not angry?" He asked tentatively.

Arthur sighed and looked the man over, "I probably will be, in the morning. But for now, I'm just glad you could be honest with me, old friend."

A soft, fond smile stole over the young sorcerer's face. "C'mon, sire. Let's get you prepared for bed. You have a council meeting first thing in the morning and an audience for the soapmaker's guild immediately after that."

Arthur stood and stretched before heading behind the changing screen and snatching up his nightclothes. "The _what?_ " Came the reply from the obscured royal.

"Think about it, Arthur. It's exactly what it sounds like." Merlin stood and retrieved the snuffer from Arthur's bedside cabinet and began snuffing out the candles, leaving the one on the king's night table lit until he was settled into bed. He opened the window to let the cool night air in before drawing the heavy curtains shut and pulling them away from the wall. Arthur liked to have the window open in the summer to air out the rooms, but preferred the curtains drawn. If the sun woke him up any earlier than was absolutely necessary, he was a grouch all day. Unfortunately, air didn't circulate through heavy velvet very well, so Merlin's solution was to pull the curtains as far away from the wall as possible so the breeze could flow out and around behind them. It was one of the many little tricks that Merlin had learned which really made him an exceptional servant. It was also one of the little things that Arthur tended to overlook until it was someone else serving in his absence.

"Why does this city have to have a guild for everything?" The king made his way to his bed, struggling to get his hand through a shirtsleeve that had turned in on itself.

"I'm quite grateful for the soapmaker's guild," Merlin quipped. "I don't even want to imagine what you'd smell like without them. Trust me, they're doing your kingdom a great service." Merlin made a disgusted sound when he caught sight of Arthur's battle with his cuff. He loped over to help the thick-headed royal when he appeared to resort to _punching_ the poor garment from the inside.

"Quit that," he nagged. "You're going to tear it again, and it's the only one you have clean." He grabbed the man by the arm, reached into the sleeve, and yanked the cuff right-side out. "I swear, you're such a child sometimes."

Arthur pulled away and sat on the edge of his bed, pouring himself a goblet of water from the pewter pitcher on his night table. "I'm fairly certain that belittling your king can be grounds for execution, Merlin."

"You know what else is usually grounds for execution?"

The king snapped his gaze to his servant's, whose brows were high and eyes wide in feigned innocence. The younger man dropped an eyebrow in challenge, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Get some sleep, you idiot. You've got as busy of a morning ahead of you as I do."

The other brow dropped. "I don't have that much to do tomorrow."

Arthur gave a smile that had just a few too many teeth for Merlin's comfort. "And do you know who has the power to change that?"

The servant groaned all the way to the door. "Alright, I get the idea. I'll see you in the morning." Merlin had his hand on the latch when the king's voice halted him.

"Merlin?"

He turned to look at his master, who had propped himself up on one elbow. He couldn't see the man's expression in the low light, but his voice had genuine curiosity in it. "If a man born with magic is a warlock, and a man who learns magic is a sorcerer... What do you call a man who hasn't the capacity for magic?"

Pride rose in Merlin's chest at hearing the king voice a question of magic so sincerely and freely. But this was Arthur... He saw his chance here, and he had to take it.

"A dollophead."

He still couldn't make out the details of Arthur's face, but could practically feel the narrow-eyed glare begin to form as he slipped out the door and latched it behind him.

He registered nothing on his way back to Gaius' chambers—not the faint echoes of his footfalls in the deserted stone corridors, not the giggling chambermaid and the licentious stable boy hidden away in an alcove, not even the stone pillar that he would later discover left a nasty bruise on his shoulder when he ran smack into it. No, by the time he ascended the three rickety steps into his own room and pressed his back against his thin wood door, the only thing he remembered of the journey was the lightness in his heart and the repeated thought of _did that really just happen?_

Some part of him—whatever small part that was not numb with shock—distantly realized that he should tell Gaius of what had just transpired. He could her the old man's soft snores drift through the main chamber, and decided to let his mentor sleep.

 _In the morning. It can wait until morning._

* * *

Arthur scowled through the dark at the retreating form of his manservant until he heard the soft _click!_ of the latch. He flopped back onto his pillows in a distinctly un-kingly fashion and slung one arm over his eyes. Merlin... Ye gods, Merlin was a sorcerer. ' _Both a warlock and a sorcerer,'_ he had called himself. And he could do magic! Actual magic!

There was a part of him, he recognized, that wanted to be angry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a cold, twisting feeling wanted him to be angry and hurt, and spit accusations in the voice of Uther. _He lied to you,_ it whispered, _deceived you, betrayed you._ A warm, strong feeling deep in his heart argued back— _He didn't want to, he had to, he would_ never _betray me._ This voice was his own. Stronger, surer, and benevolent in all the ways his father was not.

 _He didn't trust you!_ The late king snarled.

 _He does now,_ the Once and Future countered.

Arthur sighed aloud and mashed the heels of his palms into closed eyes. What was he going to do? He had been tossing around the idea of easing up on magic for months, but hadn't yet been able to figure out a realistic way to go about it. Before he could even think about getting the council involved, there was information to gather and details to work out. After all, when he said that he wished he knew a sorcerer whom he could trust, he didn't expect anyone—least of all Merlin—to actually deliver. He wasn't even sure whether this new development made things easier or more complicated.

His stomach gave an uneasy flip as a new thought crossed his mind— _how am I going to tell Guinevere?_ He kicked the thought aside and labeled it a 'tomorrow' problem. He was certain that his mind would be far too busy to let him get any rest that night, but emotional exhaustion was exhaustion nonetheless, and before too long, sleep claimed the king...

...for what felt like only a few fleeting moments before his room was awash with light and noise and _why in the seven hells does this have to happen every morning?!_

"RISE AND SHINE, SIRE!"

Arthur grit his teeth and shoved his royal head under his pillow to protect himself from the sunlight searing his retinas and his servant's voice grating the inside of his skull. "Shut _up,_ " he groused.

Despite the barrier of silk and down, he could still hear Merlin tut in disapproval. "Arthur, you know I can't understand you when you hide under your pillows like that."

"I am not hiding under my pillows!" Arthur replied indignantly, still very much hiding under his pillows.

Merlin sighed, "Really, what did I _just_ say?"

Arthur threw a hand out from the sanctum of his coverlet and fished blindly around his nightstand, searching for ammunition. His fingers curled around the first movable object they came into contact with and he hurled it in the direction of Merlin's complaints. He heard the man yelp quickly followed by the sound of metal clattering against stone.

"That still had water in it, you _clot!_ " The king listened with vindictive pleasure as his servant grumbled unintelligibly behind him.

He smirked sleepily into his mattress. _Must have been the goblet._ "Serves you right for being obnoxious."

"Alright, _enough_ with that pillow."

The sound of Merlin's unbelievably _loud_ footfalls neared the side of his bed, and a hand twisted into the pillow still pulled firmly over his head. Arthur's hand shot out from the tangle of sheets and gripped Merlin's wrist like a vice to prevent the man from yanking the pillow away from him. The king rolled his disheveled, golden head to the side and shot a murderous one-eyed glare up toward his manservant. "Move that pillow, and you'll lose this hand."

"Fine."

Merlin's free hand grabbed the king's wrist in turn, and with a shocking display of force, _hauled_ the royal right off of the bed and dumped him on the floor like an overstuffed sack of grain. Arthur scrambled to his feet, fists balled and furiously kicking the sheets and coverlet away from his tangled legs.

"MERLIN!"

He rounded on his servant, whose slate-blue eyes were wide and hands were held up in a gesture of placation. "Hey," he began, "I didn't move the pillow. I get to keep my hands, thank you." He dropped the hands in question, much too confident in getting to keep them for Arthur's liking. "But since you're up, eat something. We need to get you dressed and out the door."

The king twisted and looked at his bed, where the pillow was, in fact, still lying neatly at the head—the only dressing still on the mattress. He plodded over to the table and tucked into his breakfast, popping a wedge of cheese into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully and watched his friend scurry about his chambers, gathering up the bedclothes from the floor and tossing them into a large laundry basket. The man was humming tunelessly as he worked, stripping the folded sheet and pillow cases and wadding them up before stuffing them in the basket as well. Merlin was usually irritatingly energetic in the mornings, but today he seemed downright cheerful.

Arthur tore a chunk from a honeyroll with his teeth. Briefly, he wondered if their conversation last night had been a dream. Everything just seemed far too normal for... for _that_ to have happened. He mulled over how to broach the subject without the possibility of sounding like a lunatic and took a sip from the water goblet set next to his breakfast tray. He crinkled his nose at the unpleasant dusty flavor and frowned into the cup. He examined its contents. Was that... Was that grit? He looked from the pewter goblet in his hand to the matching pewter pitcher on his nightstand, and narrowed his eyes at the suspiciously _dry_ floor between them. He leveled a glare at his equally suspiciously dry manservant.

" _Mer_ lin," he ground out, "is this the water I threw at you?"

The sorcerer sniffed, not bothering to look up from the corner of the fresh sheet he was folding and tucking under Arthur's mattress. "Shouldn't have thrown it at me."

 _Well, at least I know it wasn't a dream._ He saw the second goblet pushed away from its matching breakfast tray and picked it up. The water inside looked much clearer, and the king took an experimental sip. Detecting nothing wrong with it, he swapped the goblets back. "You're lucky I haven't fired you."

"You have fired me," Merlin reminded him, shimmying the down pillows back into their decorative shams. "On multiple occasions."

Arthur finished up his breakfast. "Ah, right. Don't know what I was thinking."

"Me neither." Merlin smoothed the coverlet over the bed.

"About rehiring you, I mean," Arthur clarified.

"I know what you meant." Merlin gathered up the laundry basket and set it next to the chamber doors. "Now get dressed, will you? I have clothes set out already on the stool."

"You know," Arthur said, standing and shedding his white sleep shirt and stepping behind the changing screen, "for a servant, you sure do spent an awful lot of time trying to order me around in the mornings."

Merlin's reply came from somewhere in the rear of the room. "I wouldn't have to spend so much time ordering you around if you didn't _waste_ so much time stalling like a lame horse."

Arthur pulled his head through his scarlet tunic and one arm through a sleeve, about to complain that he did _not_ waste time when Merlin's voice made the comment catch in his throat.

" _Stánbót þas weall."_

Arthur whipped his head around the edge of the screen, tunic still only half on. He stared at Merlin's profile, who was standing head-bowed and left hand resting on the windowsill.

" _What the hell do you think you're doing?!"_ Arthur nearly shrieked.

Merlin jumped nearly a foot and flinched so hard he backhanded the stained glass. The young sorcerer grabbed at his reddened knuckles and hissed. "I'm fixing the mortar in your windowsill, you prat! Since you keep _picking at it_ and putting off getting a stonemason in here, I figured I'd just take care of it before you made it even worse." The fire in his eyes died. "Is that..." he shuffled his feet uncomfortably, "I mean—is that alright? Because I don't have to... You know."

Merlin's voice was casual enough, if a little self-conscious, but Arthur didn't miss the fear in his friend's eyes. _He's still afraid of me._ The thought sent a pang of sadness through his chest. _Of course he's afraid of me, I tell him he doesn't have to hide anymore, and as soon as he trusts me enough to do magic in front of me, I yell at him._ Arthur neutralized his expression. "No! No, that's fine, Merlin. Carry on."

Merlin's lips pursed and eyes crinkled in a way the king recognized as the man trying not to laugh. "D'you—" he turned his head to the side and coughed, then tried again. "D'you need help with that?" He nodded his head towards the king's torso. Arthur looked down. He had successfully pulled his head and left arm through the appropriate holes in the tunic, but in his distraction, had gotten his right elbow firmly chicken-winged into the sleeve, his hand angled uncomfortably against his collar bone. He glared over at his servant. "Shut up and get over here."

Merlin snickered, but did as he was told. He pulled his master free before resettling him into the shirt. Long fingers and practiced hands tugged on his cuffs, straightened the seams at his shoulders, and smoothed his collar. Arthur took comfort in the familiarity of it, the feeling that things hadn't changed irreparably.

After a critical once-over and a small nod of satisfaction, Merlin turned his back towards his king, offering him privacy to don his own trousers, but staying close at hand just in case. Arthur stepped into the fresh pair, tied them off under his tunic, and grabbed his thin leather belt from the stool.

"You're all grown up now, Arthur. I assume you can handle your own lacings?"

Arthur could _hear_ the impish grin on Merlin's face and turned to scowl at the back of his stupid raven-tousled head. Arthur's hand whipped out and he snapped the end of his leather belt right across the seat of Merlin's trousers, and was immediately rewarded with a rather embarrassing and unmanly _'Yip!'_ from the ingracious servant.

Merlin spun wildly, spitting a few choice oaths in the direction of his king and covering his backside. He flitted his gaze between Arthur's face and the belt in his hands with a mixture of disbelief and outrage, and directed a severe look towards the leather article. Arthur nearly dropped the belt in surprise when it lurched in his grasp and snapped its free end right over the backs of his hands of its own accord. He barely registered his newly-smarting knuckles—he was too busy staring open-mouthed at Merlin's face.

This was the—what, third? Fourth?—time Merlin had openly performed magic in the king's presence, but each time, he had been turned away or obstructed from view. Something about seeing his friend's normally blue eyes flare with gold and power, even so minutely, suddenly made this much more real.

He would never forget that image. Something about the anger in his expression—playful or no—coupled with those eyes alight with such effortless magic produced an almost instinctive feeling in the back of Arthur's mind. He was suddenly certain that he never wanted to see the young man truly enraged. And yet... It wasn't frightening, like the other few times he had been close enough to a sorcerer to witness the change in their eyes. The fact that this was still _Merlin_ probably helped with that quite a bit, but there was something different here that the king couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Arthur?"

Despite having been staring at the man's eyes, Arthur's didn't register the concern and apprehension there until Merlin spoke. He mentally shook himself.

"Merlin, your eyes. They..." Arthur nearly huffed at himself. _Well, it's good to see that all those years of eloquence training really paid off._

The warlock ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, yeah. That happens, usually."

Arthur stared at Merlin's face again. "You know, I've seen that happen on sorcerers before, and I've always thought it rather... Unnatural. Wicked." _Perverted,_ he didn't say. _Frightening. Evil._ He watched the hurt bleed into his friend's expression and continued. "But there's something different about it with you, Merlin. It looked... Natural. Like it's supposed to be there."

Merlin gave a small relieved chuckle. "That's probably because it _is_ supposed to be there. I was literally born with it."

"It suits you," the king admitted.

Merlin's features pinched in disgust. "Ew, and you call me a girl!"

Arthur took a playful swing at his manservant, who danced away. He threw the man a threatening look on his way over to the looking glass, retrieved his comb and raked it through his hair. Merlin rustled and bustled somewhere in the room behind him, and when he glanced at the room at large in the glass, he saw the servant's rumpled lower half sticking out of his wardrobe, nearly waist-deep in the hanging clothes.

"You want mail or a coat today?" The question came muffled.

"The jerkin, preferably." The king turned. "Merlin, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm—trying to— _ack!"_

Merlin stumbled backwards and landed heavily on the stone floor, letting out a little pained yelp on impact. A few clothes and hangers fell to the ground around him, including Arthur's brushed leather jerkin. Arthur raised his eyebrows at the young idiot, who smiled sheepishly back at him from the floor.

"My, uh," he pointed to his throat. "My neckerchief got caught on a hanger."

"Right," Arthur turned away and gathered his rings from his dressing table. "Well, whenever you'd like to stop being completely useless, I have a few errands I need you to run today in addition to your usual chores."

Merlin stood and began setting his small mess to rights, slinging the jerkin over one shoulder. He hummed, letting Arthur know he was listening.

 _Amazing. If he were anyone else's servant, they'd have him flogged fifty times over._ "I need you to bring my armor in for repairs, prepare a missive, and gather the round table for a private noonday meal."

Merlin approached the king, jerkin in hand and confusion on his face. "Okay...? Who's the missive to?"

Arthur stepped back into the leather and shrugged it on with Merlin's help. "Caerleon. If I'm going to move forward with lifting the ban on magic, I want to know how other rulers who allow magic operate. The only two kingdoms I know of that openly allow magic are Caerleon and Deorham, and I trust Annis far more than I trust Alined."

Merlin snorted in agreement and readjusted the leather over Arthur's shoulders.

"I'd like to invite her to Camelot for a time, maybe a week or so, just to visit and talk. And if she has a court sorcerer appointed, I'd like him to attend as well."

Merlin looked up sharply. "Really?" There was an excitement about him that made Arthur smile.

"Of course. You know, Merlin, if we lift the ban, Camelot's going to need a Court Sorcerer, too." He chuckled to himself at the bright, elated smile that cracked Merlin's face in half.

Merlin laughed in glee. "A Court Sorcerer! In Camelot! Arthur, that's amazing!"

A small pinch of sadness made itself known in the king's chest. He turned to his sorcerous friend. "Merlin," he asked, "have you, you know, had the opportunity to meet many other magic users?"

"Mm, not many," Merlin admitted. "Most of them have been the ones with some kind of grudge against you, but I've met a few decent people. I've never had the opportunity to learn from any of them, though. Almost all of the magic I know has been self-taught." The excitement returned to the warlock's eyes as a new thought seemed to occur to him. "Arthur, if we get a Court Sorcerer, d'you think he'd take me on as an apprentice?"

"We need to find one first, which is something else we'll have to figure out. Don't get ahead of yourself." Arthur stared at the top of Merlin's head, which was bowed just slightly as he did up the ties of the front of Arthur's jerkin. "There's one more thing..."

Merlin cocked his head, keeping his eyes on his task.

"Lunch, with the round table... I want to discuss the future of magic in Camelot with them. Get a few more opinions." The king took a deep breath. "I also want you to tell them."

 _That_ got Merlin's attention. His hands stilled and he snapped a terrified gaze to Arthur's face. "No..." Merlin swallowed and took a step back. "No, I can't, Arthur. I—" He shook his head. "I'm not ready for that."

"Please, Merlin," Arthur entreated. "If we're going to change the laws, everyone will eventually find out anyway." The already pale servant whitened to an alarming shade, as if this thought had never occurred to him. Arthur clapped a hand over his friend's shoulder and spoke to the man earnestly. "These are your friends. They're not going to hate you any more than I did. It'll make this whole process easier if we can freely bounce ideas off of you."

Arthur saw the fear in Merlin's expression solidify into determination. The young man gave a single nod. He smiled and clapped Merlin's shoulder again. "Excellent. I'll see you at noon, then." Arthur strode over to his desk and snatched his notes for the council meeting. He crossed the room past a stunned Merlin still standing by his dressing table and paused in the open doorway to throw one last parting comment toward his servant.

"And _don't_ forget about my armor!"

* * *

 **Spells:**

" _ **Stánbót þas weall." — Restore the stone of this wall.**_

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-Red**


End file.
